


Acrylic

by goodloser



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Competition, Ficlet, Friendship/Love, M/M, POV Third Person, Painting, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2151513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodloser/pseuds/goodloser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl is about to spend his time painting alone, when Bee comes in and decides he's got a better idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acrylic

A quiet day in Detroit, Earth, save for the muted rumble of outside vehicles (he was once again grateful for the base’s soundproofing abilities), and Prowl was spending it painting. The “canvas” was propped up against one wall of his room, a gypsum board almost as tall as him, blank save for the very beginning splashes of oaks and chestnuts.

The actions were repetitive, almost meditative. No thinking required, only _sensing_. Optics; the way light fell on the tree, casting as many shadows as it did illuminate them, some photons being absorbed and others being reflected, the slightest variations giving way to hues and saturations and tones.

Audials; the songs of the canaries nestled in the trees, those seemingly-distant cars growling and squeaking, even the slightest noises his systems made as they happily functioned away. Creaks from joints, folding and unfolding his arm again and again to direct the paintbrush. Thuds from slight steps, repositioning himself to get a better angle. Energon flowing through his fuel lines. He was alive, indeed, and had to admit the humans hadn’t been wrong in inventing this _art_ thing.

Listening, he noticed one car was a lot less distant than he thought.

“No baddies, no Decepticons, no _nothin’_ and you’re in here _painting_?”

Perhaps it was that he was more focused on his work than he realised, but when he turned, the bright-yellow sports car’s face was inches from his. An irritating violation of personal space, and if it was anyone else, he would’ve flinched, but this was _Bumblebee_. He couldn’t let it look like he was _bothered_ , or anything.

“Yes.” Compared to the four-wheeler, the motorcycle sounded much more in-control and indifferent, and that was just the way he liked it. “It’s good to relax on a day off.”

“ _Relaxing?_ ” Bumblebee posed it as a question, but it was more _shouted_ than _asked_. He was waving his hands for emphasis, smiling all the same, only outraged in an amused sort of way. “You call _this_ relaxing? Relaxing is watching TV, or videogames, or, or, a scenic drive ‘round the city. Not this, _this_ ,”

He paused - looking for the right words? – and gestured towards the canvas, the other servo planted firmly on his hip. “What _is_ it?”

“It’s a tree. _That_ tree.”

“You should have Ratchet check your optics, ninjabot. They look _nothing_ alike!”

“It’s not finished.”

The car took another few moments to glance between the tree, the paintbrush in Prowl’s hand, and the cans of house paint at his feet. That _did_ explain things.

“Well, _whatever_ –“ he folded his arms as if tucking that little mistake behind them, and posed confidently “- because I bet I can paint it better, and _faster_ , than you can.”

Prowl stared at him, processing the idea. At first it was preposterous; painting was for _expression_ , for _winding down_ , not competition, and yet the more he thought about it, the more it seemed a positive thing after all. It could help train Bumblebee in patience, and stillness, maybe even hand-eye co-ordination.

Plus, he wasn’t really about to lose to the little yellow ‘Bot.

So the two set up another gypsum board on the opposite side of the room, found another brush, and moved the paint cans to the centre of the room, so as to share. The car even got a thirty-minute head start, although he proclaimed rather loudly that he didn’t need it.

They each got to work on their own paintings, Prowl making steady progress on his, despite the room being much less quiet and still with the energetic sports car around. It shouldn’t be _possible_ to paint loudly, but Bumblebee managed, with grunts, frenzied bristly noises, and even telling the canvas _how d’you like some’a that?_ , to absolutely no response.

The hours passed, though, and Prowl was just highlighting the summer leaves when there was a cry of “I’m done!” from outside his visual field. He put down his paintbrush and stepped over to get a clear look.

“It’s nice to see an appreciation for the abstract.”

“The… what?”

‘Bee’s face fell, as he stared up at the Cyber-Ninja. On his canvas was a _unique_ array of bright colours and shapes, almost arranged in a vague tree structure, but not quite clearing it to the untrained eye. His blue optics were straining for impression, for approval, any form of “it’s good” he could get.

“It’s… good.”

It wasn’t _bad_ , by any means, merely _different_. Not to mention probably his first painting, and certainly commendable in a creative sense. The seemingly random brush strokes and patterns rivalled even the human painter, _Kandinsky_. Prowl, normally blunt with his opinions, decided it could to better to encourage the ‘Bot, rather than crush his hopes just yet. And _maybe_ there was some tiny vocalisation in the back of his neural-net telling him he didn’t want to hurt Bumblebee’s feelings, but that wasn’t something he wanted to hear to anytime soon.

For a second the car is surprised, his eyes widening with a small ‘ _really?_ ’, before his mouth broke into that familiar cocky grin. He exclaimed “Ha, I _knew_ it! I’ve gotta show the others my new-found talent!” and grabbed the painting, only to run out the exit, shoulder-wheels spinning wildly with excitement.

The motorcycle wordlessly watched him leave, a passive expression on his face. For a few brief moments, he debated whether he’d done the right thing or not, and then made way back to his own canvas, only to stop metres away.

Peculiar. The painted tree seemed _yellower_ than he’d intended.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first TFA fic, thanks for reading! :o can't believe i am shipping this ship this much but there you go it was an accident i swear. shout out to my friend sharky for giving me an actual plot B)


End file.
